


In the year of '39

by orphan_account



Category: Queen (Band)
Genre: But chapter 2 is the worst, Cross-Posted on Wattpad, Gen, I promise, I'd murder chapter 2, It Sucks, Maybe the others too, Stupidly written, The first four chapters are shit, Universe Traveling, Wormhole, Yeah definitely, at least I hope, but it gets better, will be sad
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-12-26
Updated: 2017-04-03
Packaged: 2018-09-12 06:23:12
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 11
Words: 14,284
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9059323
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: How will one find out where his friend is? How will the friend find out where he is? And, most importantly, will they find eachother again?





	1. But, my love, this cannot be

**Author's Note:**

> Hi! It's my first published Queen-fanfic. Let me know what you think!

1975

\- ... well, i don't know how i'm going to do it, but i swear, it's gonna work! I just need somebody to help me.  
\- Yes, you do, Mr. May. Maybe if your "experiment", or how you call it had any sense, i'd send you someone to test it, but it doesn't have any scientific basic. I thought you were smarter than this, May.  
\- But sir, you didn't even look at my plans!  
\- Oh, May, it was enough to hear what you said about it. I won't help you. You do it on your own, or not at all. Enough said. I'll come back tomorrow, figure out something 'til then. 

That's what Roger heard, while he shamelessly harked at what the very serious-looking man and his friend discussed. He was confused. Was there anything by any chance what Brian couldn't do? It seemed there was. A moment later the serious-looking man stormed out, glaring at the clueless blond, who blinked back at him. Then the man went on, leaving Roger behind, who quickly turned around, to comfort Brian, who was partically yelled at, and he didn't liked that when he was yelled at. Okay?

\- What's the matter, Bri? Blue meanies? - asked Roger, who was great at quoting Beatles.  
\- Well, you have seen the man... Was he blue? - scowled Brian at this. He was obviously not amused right now.  
\- I don't know, maybe he was... Who knows these days? But let's say, if he were blue that wouldn't help his serious-looks. He was serious-looking, y'know.  
\- Y'know. I have seen him, too. I have talked with him. And, Roger, i have learned from him.  
\- Oh, so he was your teacher?  
\- No, my dad, Roger.  
\- But i've met your dad... Oh, you're so very funny, you know that, right? That wasn't forced or anything like that, good one, BriBri.

At this, Brian just frowned, and decided that Roger wasn't worth a quarrel. Then he sighed:  
\- So, so you want to know why i am so upset?  
\- Nnnyees? - grinned Roger. Oh, how he tought he was funny.  
\- Yes, okay. So, this man, my teacher, whom i showed my new idea for my biggest experiment ever, turned me down, saying that it's rubbish. Can you imagine that? And i wanted to do my doctorate of this...  
\- Oh, then Brian, you're either a misunderstood genius, or an idiot. What was your idea?  
\- Creating a wormhole, and going through it.  
\- You're an idiot.  
\- Thanks, that's what he said, too. And he said that i can do it, if i have someone to demonstrate it with. You know, i'd operate it, then anyone who's willing to help me would go through it, then come back. The point is to prove: wormholes aren't dangerous or anything like that. I already know how to create one, the other's mission is just to put through his hand or something like this. No biggie -, then Brian stared at Roger, with big, hope- and meaningful puppy-eyes. Roger stared back with his blue puppy-eyes. They both had puppy-eyes.

After a minute of staring, Roger gave up and in.  
\- Okay, okay, i'll do it, i don't want to prevent you feom gettint your doctorate. See how good of a friend i am, okay? I will do it.  
\- Thank you so much, Roggie! - Brian suddenly broke out from his devastated state, and he looked like he wanted to hug Roger, who backed off a bit.  
\- Yeah, you should thank me, i'm the best friend of yours in this world, i know, but i'd rather pass, thanks, no hug for me.  
\- Nyeeeeeeeeh -, squeeked Brian. Now he was like he could fly.  
\- Okay, Bri, enough. Tell me instead, how shall i prepare myself for putting my hand through a wormhole? - Roger suddenly had a russian accent, what he didn't know where had he got. But there was a russian accent, yes.  
\- Oh, you have nothing to do! Just come tomorrow, at twenty-six... Railroad...   
\- I'll come at five o'clock, if it is fine with you.  
\- That's what i meant, heheh... - hehed Brian. - Thanks, again!  
\- You're welcome, i guess.

And Roger, being the punctual englishman he was, appeared at five o'clock. Tomorrow. Or today, now. Where? Great question, because i can answer it easily: at Brian's home. Of course, typical Brian: building a wormhole at home, why not?  
He knocked, but didn't get a reply, so he let himself in. He saw that Brian had everything under his watch, and there was nothing to worry about. But Roger was worried in spite of this: because, you know, he came for letting his hand being swallowed by a wormhole. He managed to calm himself down with a thought... A wormhole is better than a blackhole, ain't it? He was slightly nervous.

Then Brian greeted him, and he saw that he was much more nervous than himself. The sheep's footsteps weren't his normal ones, he was literally jumping, not walking, like a human being. And we didn't mention the trembling and shaking beforehead.  
\- It's time, Brian -, said Roger dramatically.  
\- Is it... Twenty-six... Railroad? - asked Brian shyly.  
\- Will you stop this? Why can't you measure in normal time? Like any normal bloke?  
\- Because i'm not normaaaal, - sang Brian, his five arms floating around him.  
\- Fair point, - agreed Roger.  
\- It's time, Bri... Roger, - coughed Brian after a minute. Dramatically. Roger raised his eyebrows.  
\- That's what you say, - and he went after Brian. To do his doctorate. About wormholes. Seems legit, he shrugged. - I hope i won't meet you again, when you'll be this nervous, i mean, what, so, i hope you won't be this nervous again, or what, or i don't know, oh, i'm so nervous too...

\- Good afternoon, good s-sirs, i'm glad you came for my doctorating. Here's my l-lovely experiment-monkey, Roger Taylor, he'll demonstrate the working of a wormhole b-by putting his hand through it. I-i'll create one. Thank you, - if possible, Brian seemed even more nervous than he was before. - Roger, please, stand by and by that machine. If a wormhole appears, quickly do what you have to, then we're over.  
\- Why?  
\- Not like that, you goofball!  
\- Like how?  
\- Roger, why do you have to do this now? - spotted Brian ceiling-cat, then the machine began to work.  
It was shiny. And loud. Just how you would imagine a machine that creates wormholes in a guitarist's house.   
And there it was - the wormhole.  
\- Quick, Roger, do it! - yelled Brian.  
\- But i tought that wormholes doesn't exist!  
\- What? You've been questioning my plan all along? - shouted through the clinging and snapping Brian.  
\- I didn't eat charcoal! You thought i really want to put my hand through a non-existing wormhole?  
\- But it does exist! Do it!  
\- I see it! And i don't want to! Do It Yourself!  
\- But you promised! You promised you'll help me! - and with this, Brian pushed Roger, so he fell closer to the evergrowing hole.

Someone yawned in the little crowd.

And the hole, what was at a great size now, swallowed Roger, then closed itself. Just like it never happened, leaving an angry, confused, scared, disappointed and guilty Brian behind.  
\- Roger? Roger?! ROGER, YOU ASS!


	2. Their hearts so heavily weigh

Roger didn't black out. Didn't worm out, either. Instead, he found himself in a very normal-looking place, like London. Yes, it was definitely London. That wasn't too bad, was it? Then... The wormhole didn't bring him too far away, it seems...

People were walking up and down the streets. Normal people, maybe. If he's lucky. Oh, but there was a man who walked really silly, then there's one who ran here and there in sportclothes, and peeked in everywhere. I mean, everywhere, but really. And they all were familiar, oh, so, so familiar. But why? He was sure he didn't met them before.

He decided to ask someone where he was, was it really London, or just a faux-London, or another city, which had nothing to do with London. London, London. So he approached a clean-looking old man, (he was very elegant) to ask him if this city was London.  
\- I'm sorry, sir, can you tell me where am i? I mean, is this city London?  
The man dug into his pocket, fishing out a little bookie-thing. He opened it up, cleared his throat, then said:  
\- I would liiike... you... to come back.... to my place...? - and he hopefully smiled. Roger wrinkled his nose:  
\- Sorry, sir, i'll pass, - you see, he was patient. Well, in this world maybe this is normal. - But can you really tell me where am i?  
The good man worryingly turned the pages of the book, then said:  
\- Your nose is pretty, - then glanced at Roger, to see if he said it right.  
\- What the hell, man? - he frowned. - Gimme that! - and he grabbed the book out of the man's hands.  
It said: Hungarian Phrasebook.  
\- Okay, sir, sorry again. I should have known better that the first man i'll see will be a foreigner. Thank you, tho. Hungarian.  
And he walked away. Far away.

Soon he was at another little street. And, to his surprise, he saw the same man, but in entirely different clothing. Now he was wearing a coach's uniform. He had a whistler, a headband, and everything like this. He was yelling. Yelling, but what? Well...  
\- You can't catch me alive! Nor dead! I'll defend myself against your filthy tangerines and blackberries! You won't be happy for long, because i can defeat you and your tomatoes! - Hey, hey, heyhey! Roger couldn't leave this without a word.  
\- Good Sir, are you sure that a tomato is... a... fruit? - Yes. There it was. He got it. He knew where he was, and who the people around him were.  
\- What do you say, strawberry-blondie? - asked the man threateningly.  
\- I'm just blond, not strawberry-blond...  
\- WHERE? WHERE? - spun around the craycray when he heard the word 'strawberry'.  
\- Uhm, nowhere. I will go now, i don't want to steal your jokes, - bowed Roger, then took off.  
\- What? Whose jokes? What do you mean? Get back here right now! I'm not done with you! - yelled the man after Roger.  
\- We didn't even start anything, - smiled said not strawberry-blond, and walked farther away.

Now no-one disturbed him for a while. He paced at the lonely streets (it was a monday noon, with nobody outside), kicked at rocks, whistling, thinking. He had time to think.

'Okay, so i fell through a wormhole, or i'd say Brian pushed me through one, and now i'm in a Monty Python universe, full of John Cleeses, Eric Idles, Terry Joneses, Michael Palins and Graham Chapmans. I wonder if i'll see any animations. Or the minister of silly walks. I've always wanted to meet the minister of silly walks, yeah. Ooh, i have. He was the one who walked silly. My bad, i didn't recognise him then. I'll search him up, i think. That'd be the best i can do now, i suppose. Once i fell through that wormhole. In fact, i didn't expected me to stay alive, or not just fall over the another side of... the table. It's a kind of magic, i suppose. I'm in a parallel universe. Is it parallel? I don't know. How do i go home? I want to go home. I don't really want to be in a Monty Python universe... I'm hungry.'

\- I WANT TO EAT CHEESE! - Roger yelled from the top of his lungs, because he could totally do that. Nobody heard, right?  
\- You can't eat cheese here, - came a reply from above his head.  
\- Look, another Cleese. What a surprise. They can't leave the man alone, - and he looked up, then walked a little more. 

'I'll just look for a fun place while i'm here, it can't be that hard to find, it's Pythonverse, afterall', Roger tought, and took off to search for a pub. There were pubs, right? At least the Rutles' first place to play, or something like that.  
\- Wait, what the hell is the Rutles? Ne'er heard of it, - furrowed Rog his eyebrows. - I hope this 'going through a wormhole' thing won't affect me too much. But seriously, what is the Rutles?

At least he found a pub. It was not comfy. Not something you'd say 'well, this is a good place'. Rather tiny, and anyone would feel claustrophobic. But there were people. At monday noon. Nevermind this, i tell you.  
There were lots of people. And again, Roger was not really surprised to find out that every fifth person looked similar.  
Roger found a chair, which he quickly claimed as his. And he saw that someone was going to perform something, by the looks of it, it was the Lumberjack Song.  
Roger stared at it dreamily, while everyone was surprised and slightly disgusted and upsed (he didn't know why, tho), as the wanna-be-lumberjack just sang his heart and hidden wishes of his soul. When he got to the part 

I cut down trees, I wear high heels  
Suspendies and a bra.  
I wish I'd been a girlie, just like my dear pappa,

something flashed in Roger's mind, and he murmured to himself with his half-wolf-grin:  
\- Well, ain't this a woooonderfully bright idea?

Then he decided he'd had enough of this place, and left it all behind, not looking back. Soon, he got out of the town, and found himself in a...

**Meanwhile in the real life**

Brian clung onto the table where his machine stood, and hiccupped, because crying always made him hiccup. A veil of tears made his face look all shiny and white, and hell, it didn't look good. The judge, it seems, wasn't very interested.  
\- Mr. May, i'm afraid you can't do your doctorate with this. But your chanches are still up, you can try it again next year, maybe. If you get a normal topic.  
\- Don't Mr. May me, you soulless bastard! I don't want any kind of topic! Can't you see that my best friend just vanished? And... Because of me! Where is he? Where can he be? WHERE'S MY BEST FRIEND?  
\- Not my concern, - shut the professor or who out Brian's yelling. - Bye.  
\- Bye, - waved Brian, still crying, and the cold men left the place. - How do i get him back, though? How do i know where is he? Is he well? And... How do tell Freddie and John that our drummer... Is not here, right now?


	3. Write your letters in the sand

\- What the hay? - Roger's eyes snapped open. Snapped open. That means... They were closed before. And when do you close your eyes, besides circa twenty times a minute? Okay, okay, blinking doesn't count this time. So, you close your eyes when you're asleep. Surprise, surprise. But it sure was a surprise for Roger, when he sat up on the ground. The ground of the room where he fell through, or was pushed through a wormhole by Brimi.   
But there was nobody. It was all empty and silent, and almost scary. Heh, not almost, it was terrifying. 

Roger carefully stood up. As he got a better look on the place, he saw that there was dust everywhere, as if no-one was in here for years. Dust on the table, the chairs, probably in the curtains, as they were a lot more gray than he remembered, on the floor, and now on Roger's back, because, you know, he lay there for... For god knows how long. Roger didn't know, that's sure. In fact, the entire Roger was covered in dust. He could have bite it, if he wanted, because there was dust on his face too, hehe.

He shook himself like a dog, who just came out of the water, so the dust was now in the air, making it look thicker and heavier. Then he walked to the windows, and pulled back the curtains. He was right about them - they were dusty, too.   
But as he pulled them back, there was light. Pale and weak light, but much better than nothing. The sun was shining, at least. And when he looked at a sunbeam crossing the entire lenght of the room, he now really saw the dust in the air. You know, when you sit still, and just look at the dust in the sunshine, and it's so beautiful, isn't it? 

Roger just glared at it, grinning, before swinging his arms through the air, making all of the specks levitate in a different way, faster, like an electromagnet. In one direction thee flew, and then the blond grinned, and flailed again. The dust changed its direction once again. Oh, Roger could do this for hours. 

Maybe he did. Maybe he did not, but he was never good at telling how much time has passed. So he was just in a middle of a spin, when he got a hold on himself, lifting up his head, and looking directly out of the window. Hey, he knew it now, he pulled back the curtains in the first time because he wanted to look out of the window. What did he see? Oh, not you, pretty things. Or some could think it was pretty, but for some, it was boring. It was a street of London. The real London, now he knew it for sure. His London, but it was empty.

\- Oh, man, what now? Why is nobody here? - asked Roger himself, because he felt lonely, and he could totally pull off the 'talking go myself is maybe talking to someone else' thingie.   
He leant on the windowsill, pressing his nose to the glass, so it would look like it was compacted or something. His breathing made patches on the not-so-clear by standards glass, and he decided to draw something in the vapor.   
He lifted up his right hand, and pointing at the glass, he drawn a line. And two dots. And circles. And another, bigger circle. Then four little lines, and a longer one.  
\- Look, a lion! - he laughed, completely amused by his graphic skills. - Do we look alike? - asked the Leo himself again, but didn't get a reply. In other situations he'd get himself a mirror, but right now he saw no use in it, as his lion was already fading away. 

And then, he finally got a good look out. He saw the outside world, and it seemed as it was frozen. But as no-one was outside, walking, or standing freezed, as Roger supposed, or wanted someone to be, so he could see at least this, this was happening now, he could walk, talk in a frozen town. But nobody was there. Not a pigeon, trying to steal something, not a dog, chasing a cat, not a human being, no Brian, or Freddie, or John. 

\- I guess, i'll be just going off then, - he again informed himself. He was frightened. Seriously. He was never this scared in his life. He was alone in the world? Or what? That was dreadful.  
\- I'm a social creature! I can't be all by myself! Hey! Someone!  
Seriously, was there a door somewhere? When he left, or did god only knows what, there was. He looked around, looking for it, and he found one.

\- You know, somehow i have to make a final breaktrough, and like right NOW, because i'm going slightly maaad! - and as he said this, he went against the door, kicking it in. Okay, trying to kick it in. That was useless, though, because that door opened inwards. Roger was sitting on his ass at the floor again, blinking at the closed door, then stood up, nervously trying to just lift the latch, and he succeeded. Yay.

He peeked out, finding the hall in the same condition as the room he was in before. (Dusty.) It seemed like years had passed since he, or anyone else was here.   
\- Has Brian moved out? - mumbled Captain Obvious. - Then i guess i'll just have to find out where he is nowadays.

He walked to the front door, trying to open it. But this door now was closed.   
\- Crap, - Roger stated cleverly. - Where the hell do i go out now? I should ask the map, oh, no, no, i won't. What? - really, what was this? Anyways. He thought he'd just climb through the bathroom window, as it was the lowest, so he wouldn't break his ankle or anything else, and he'd be free anyway. So he did just that.   
\- Slippin'... And a.. Slidin', peepin' and a... hidin', - he slowly hummed to himself, as he tried to get down. - Been told a long time ago. Slippin' and a slidin'... Baby, i'm not gonna break my neck, - Roger promised to himself, and with that, he smoothly landed. It really wasn't that high.  
Maybe he was afraid of heights.  
\- I'm not even afraid of heights, but this was scary, - Roger admitted. Uhum. It seems he was scared now by anything. You better keep that in mind. But at least he was out.

**Meanwhile in the real life**

\- What do you mean 'he's gone'? How did he go? Where is he? What happened? - raised Freddie his eyebrows, and handed a tissue to Brian.  
\- I mean... I mean he is nowhere to be seen... I'll never see him again... And it's my fault... - Brian blew his nose in that tissue.  
\- Look, Bri, i ain't no mind-reader. Tell me what happened, - ordered Freddie sternly.  
\- O-okay, so, you know, i wanted t-to do my doctorate for a while now, but i-i needed a volunteer, with whom i could demonstrate the standards of a wormhole, and R-roger agreed, but i g-got angry with him, and pushed him through it, - hiccupped Brian.

Freddie and John just stared at him.

\- What? - asked Freddie.

\- I... I believe you, Brimi, - said John quietly.  
\- What? - asked Freddie once again.  
\- Look, Fred, we have to believe him. It's strange but possible, i think, maybe a kind of magic, but it can't be unreal. It's not like Brian murdered Roger, and he doesn't want to admit that he threw his body in the river, i guess. The wormhole is it, then. And the seventies.  
\- Thank you, - smiled Brian a little.

\- Okay, okay, that's beautiful and everything, but we don't have a drummer, but do have a gig in like two hours. What are we gonna do now? How are we gonna get him back? We have to get him back, Brian! We have to! God only knows where he is right now! - grabbed Freddie Brian's shoulders to shake him.  
\- I know, Freddie, i mean, i don't know, and i mean, we're gonna get him back. I promise, - looked Brian at the singer with sad puppy-eyes. - I'm going to get him back eventually.


	4. For the day i take your hand

\- I'M OUT! - yelled Roger, as if he expected the Beatles' Can't Buy Me Love to start playing, just like the time when they got out. But nothing like that happened. But so it was true, he was out. He broke free, at least a wee bit.

Outside, it seemed, it was february. Or the weather was like it was in february, back in England, but no-one knows it really well. But nevermind the weather. What's more important, that as Roger got up to his feet (he fell out of the window to his face, because he's a pumpkin), he actually saw people! Or he tought. He saw human frames. Little silhouettes of men. He was glad.

He walked towards the silhouettes. It seemed that they really were living, breathing, functioning, speaking humans, at least they moved, talked, and, as it seemed, smoked. This was the moment Roger remembered, he needed a ciggie. Immediatly. He could ask them, right?

Soon he got close enough to hear what they were talking about.   
\- So, what are you afraid of? - asked one voice.  
\- What a great topic, mate! Don't you know already that i'm afraid of nothing? - answered another with a question.  
\- So wait, you're not afraid of nothing? - a third voice joined in.  
\- No, what i'm saying is that i'm afraid of nothing!  
\- I see. You must be very scared right now.  
There was a moment of silence. Then:  
\- Good one. I almost laughed.  
\- Is that bad?  
\- Well, i don't know... You wanna know what i'm afraid of?  
\- No?  
\- I hate when i see people roll their eyes. I don't know if they roll their eyes at me too, just behind my back.  
\- I don't give a damn, darling.  
\- What a pleasure to have a conversation with you, you know?

Roger, as he listened to this, realised that he didn't even needed that cigarette. He'd live on without it. He didn't want to address the voices, because they were like dead moles. Souls, i mean. Maybe they really were.

\- I'll just search for a tobacco shop - Roger mumled for himself, as he turned on his heel, walking away. - This place is so depressing already! I don't want to stay in a world without love, and with the daily topic 'what are your biggest fears?'! I sure do wanna go home!

This was his quest now - finding a tobacco shop. (And going home, heh) With living people. He'd like that. You know, his fear of being alone started to be overwhelming. And people could help that. _Certain_ people. People he was friends with. But he walked and walked, and walked a little more. Maybe he walked, too. I'm not sure, i wasn't there, but i'd say he walked a little bit besides walking. And after that, he... Walked. He walked for what felt like hours. Half a day. No, maybe not that far, he thought in himself, but he really did felt like that. He was not good at walking. He was good at hitting drums... Sitting. So, how far _did_ he walk? How much? 

\- How much more? - he threw his hands up in the air, then bended on his knees, panting. Then he fell on his face, from where he rolled onto his back. He lied in the mud. It felt good. - Oh, my hell... The sun says i walked for like half a hour.  
He snorted, smiling, and closing his eyes. - I'm phatetic - he complimented himself. - I could slap you. You'll never get home like this. Lying in the mud... Don't you realise you do not have other clothes? Don't you realise you... You don't have your sunglasses with you, you idiot. Your eyes are sensitive, you know.   
\- I know, Meddows - he grinned. He had this habit of talking with himself as Roger and as Meddows. It was a little bit emotionally insable, but right now he felt like he deserved to talk to his sort of alterego.  
\- You're gonna go blind - he then threated himself. He was gonna say 'am not!', but then he'd reply with an 'are too!', which he found way too childish, you know.

\- Look at you, again, lying in the cold, cold mud, with only one outfit, and the very chance to go blind...  
\- Man, i'm not gonna be blind! Stop it! If you are such a know it all, why don't you just tell me how to cross universes by myself?  
\- How could i know? You don't know it, either, i just know what you know. This is why you should get up from the mud, and at least cover your eyes.  
\- Oh, thanks for the advice, you help sooo much...  
\- I know, man, i know.  
\- I'm going crazy! - Roger finally laughed very loud, with sadness and determination in his eyes, and rolled over to his tummy in the mud.

**Meanwhile in the real life**

\- Thank you - nodded Freddie. - You can go now. I'm sorry.  
He pointed at the door, silently urgeing the poor, hopeful drummer wannabe to leave. John and Brian both smiled weakly, and they shrugged, as if to say that they had to agree with Freddie, he had to go now. He didn't get the job. The drummer pouted, saying 'thank you', and got out of the room.

\- Should i look if someone's out there? - asked John, already getting up.  
\- No, dear, leave it. I've had enough. Not just for today. We've been looking for weeks, months now for the right replacement for Roger. But guess what? He can't be replaced! Not one of them could drum as well as Roger, sing at the same time as high as Roger does and can, they didn't look as good as Roger, and if that one last week did, he was a right douche.

\- We could ask other bands' drummers, don't you think?  
\- Ooh, great idea! There's only one problem, you know... THEY'RE IN OTHER BANDS.   
\- And what abo-  
\- We're not asking Ringo Starr. Does he match any of the aforementioned skills?

\- Uh... Maybe not. Then John here? He can play the drums... A little bit - squeaked Brian.  
\- Yeah. He does. He really do can play the drums a little bit. That's all he can do of Roger's work. And, besides that, he's our bassist, as far as i know.

\- Fair point - frowned Brian, nibbling on his nails. Since Roger vanished, it became one of his few bad habits. His once neat-looking, clean, healthy fingers became achy, red, ichy, and it was really bad to play the guitar with fingers like that. Everytime he put pressure on them, he felt like his hand was falling off.  
\- Stop that, Bri - John spoke up. - Uhm... What about we really do ask other bands' drummers, to every other song... I mean, one whose style matches the song and how Roger would play it... And we can always find somebody to sing that high... Maybe women? 

But his real bright idea was met by two pairs of raised eyebrows.   
\- Great idea, Deaky - smiled Freddie weakly, and slapped the bassist on the back. - Yeah, maybe we could do that. But now, we're going to go home. Brian, did you find something to get him back? I hope you'll do. I highly recommend to you to do. But... What if he stuck there forever where he is? Or... What if he didn't even survive that journey or whatsoever? Or what is he's just floating around in space? Wait, if he's in space, he sure did freeze and suffocate by now! He could be dead! What id he's dead? We'll never see him again! Do you believe he's dead?  
\- No... Of course i don't believe he's dead... And gone - Brian tried to sound self-confident, but... Failed, heh. And he didn't know if he had to be glad or not, because he felt the unsaid 'and it'd be your fault'. He felt it. Freddie wanted to say it, John (maybe) wanted to say it, and he wanted to **scream it out loud** . It was his fault. Roger was dead, and it was his fault.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Comments make me happy


	5. Little darling, we'll away

Roger was still lying in the mud. He started to feel like a pig.   
\- Oh, my hell, what've i thought? I really do not have other clothes! Stupid, stupid Roger!  
He scratched his head.   
\- Really, man, you're an idiot. You're here on your own in the middle of nothing, and you alerted yourself, that this is gonna end badly, but no, why would you listen to your senses? You're gonna catch a cold, and you already look like a hobo. Congratulations.

He tapped his feet on the ground.  
\- Why am i so unlucky?  
And he gritted his muddy clothing in his palms, so the junk was dropping out of it.  
\- I swear, i'd rather go back to that ghost-town, or else sleeping. I wonder if my friends know where am i, and if they miss me. I sure do miss them. Can Brian figure something out? Or how the hell am i supposed to find an exit? Or another wormhole? Or anything? And will i ever stop talking to myself? I'm very annoying. Yeah, don't tell me the opposite, i know i am. Crap, i go find some water.

Roger rubbed his eyes, so he'd get the dust and mud out of them, but his hands were even more dirty, so it got only worse.  
\- Hay! It burns, it burns, somebody help me, please, it fookin hurts! My eye! - and he blinked dramatically, but it didn't help with nothing.  
\- Ha help! Hey, people of the earth! I'm really going blind! Lord, give me an idea, i love my eyesight! - he prayed, and his prayes were listened of.

\- Heureka! - he snapped his fingers, and you could literally see a bulb lighting up above his head. Then he spit into his hands. Yeah. Real genius.  
He rubbed his hands together, then spitted onto them once again. He carried on with this, 'til his hands got back their skin-color.   
\- This'll do - Roger shrugged, and now he tried for real to deep-clean his eyes, mixed with many blinks.   
\- Ah, crap, this hurts, but at least i have tears... - he bit his lower lip. - Why am i such an idiot? Well, there's no cure of stupidity. This is the biggest fault in this world, besides not being able to find my glasses without my glasses, am i right? I guess i'm lucky that i'm a cheerful person - he cheered quietly, because, man, he really was a cheerful person. Always an optimist.

\- Okay, i'm not entirely blind, might caused some mild damage, but i'll live. My clothes are dry now, just brown, and i had enough of lying in mud for my life, so i never again have to fear of what if i want to lie down in mud?

Then he laid down in the mud again.

\- What the hell, man? - he asked himself, startled. - I mean, what? Just what? Why? 

He stood up, once again dripping with mud.  
\- WHY THE HELL DID I DO THIS? - he cried. - Now i'm covered with this shit again, my eyes, you know, and anyways, what kind of idiot lays down in the mud? Again? Ugh, i hate this... Mud. And i wanna go home. And i hate this. And i want my friends. I want my friends to help me. I want to get back there. I want to know if i'm able to get back there in time on my feet. And i still want a ciggie, i guess. Ahw, crap, i'm such a saddening bore. For myself, at least. I just repeat myself all the time. 

So, now he took his time to get dry again. Well, he did have time, he thought. He had nowhere to go, not a point to reach, so he just was there, doing nothing. Waiting for the hammer to fall, or God only knows what. But yeah, what if his friends didn't even notice him not being there? Well, that's stupid, since Brian was the one who pushed him through that thing.  But what if this day or few days, he didn't know, what if it had been only a minute in his original world? What if they haven't blinked once or so back there? And, on the other hand, what if they'd blink? Many times? As we know, we blink twenty times a minute, do you remember...?

So, doing the maths, Roger started to worry about what if they blinked 12096000-576000 times already? If he did it correctly. He wasn't a mathematical mind, he was a biologist, you know.  No, that's not correct for sure, but at least it was something to think about. But why this, it's also pointless. Why do you worry about how many times you blink in a week? Do you blink when you're asleep?

In the meantime, he found himself to be dry again again, and now, carefully, slowly walking away, thinking 'DO nOt LYe dOWN You stUPId thing', he successfully got away from the side of the road, and was now really standing in the middle of it. 

\- Where did i leave this? I was walking, right? Where was i walking? - after a serious minute of dancing around in one place, trying to remember where he was heading, he realised that - I have no idea. I don't know. Oh, yeah, i do know. Nowhere! Or had i had some sort of goal? That tobacco shop? Or back home? Or what? And how? And I'M SO BORING. SO, SO, SO VERY BORING. In fact, what am i even talking about? With who? Why? Why?

**Meanwhile in the real life**

Brian was sitting by his table, munching on his pencil. He wanted ideas - any kind of ideas. Song ideas, get-Roger-back ideas, stuff like that. In the last three years, since Roger'd been gone, (they cut off their hair) they did some good stuff, that's true. They made it with Bohemian Rhapsody, but back then they had Roger, the Roger, who had so many fresh and new ideas, who could always come up with a few lines if needed.   
But now Roger was gone. Gone away, or gone dead, but certainly he couldn't be reached. He was missing.

He left a big, empty space behind him. He was missed. It was just not the same. They wrote songs, they recorded them, they were good, but in every album they had made, there was something that made them less than the ones before Roger was gone. I mean, there was not something. By something i mean Roger. There was a something called Roger, a something that spiced the group up, what keeped it alive, what gave it rythim and falsettos, and wrote silly and not silly songs, and was so alive and vibrant and now missing... 

They did everything they could with the takes Roger once made, if they were on drums or failed lines. In most of them, he was laughing.

\- Brian? Darling, how are you? Got any news? - Freddie peeked in. What he wanted to ask was if Brian's come out of his ever-lasting apathy. But, hey, why would he by all of sudden? Yeah, why..

\- Deaky wrote a new song. It's cheeky enough for me to like it, i think you'll do, too. He's been writing really good songs lately. What a shame that he can't sing - smirked or smiled or grinned or scowled or frowned or grimaced or whatever Freddie.

\- Yeah, what a pity - agreed Brian, just because he had nothing better to do. - What's it called?   
\- Uhm, he actually wrote more than one... One of them is, uhm, If You Can't Beat Them, and the other is In Only Seven Days, where we learn the days of the week.  
\- Sounds awesome - sighed Brian, getting up from his seat. - Very Deaky. His lyrics are usually really good, i wonder with what had he come up this time.

\- And have you been writing something lately, Freddie? - chatted Brian, as they were walking out of the room, probably to the studio. He was very glad, tho, that Freddie didn't nudge him about Roger. But, maybe he should.


	6. For so many years have gone

**We're starting in the real life this time**

Brian clapped his hands. He'd finally finished the blueprint of his machine what could help in getting Roger back. He didn't know how he did it - it seemed pointless for many years. But, it seems, as the new decade came, he got more creative or smart or lucky. But one day he woke up with this new idea in his mind. As he didn't know, couldn't know where Roger was, he didn't know where to find him, either, obviously. So he thought he'd build another portal, and he'd go through it himself.

He presented his idea to his friends:  
\- My friends, i'll present you my idea on getting Roger back: i'll go after him myself - and he nodded proudly. - How did this not got in my mind earlier? Silly me - and he giggled a little.  
\- Silly you, exactly - frowned Freddie, who had really short hair and a moustache now. - You're so not going after him, darling. We won't lose you, too, that's a thing i know for sure.  
\- But Freddie! - started Brian, but he didn't continue it, because when you start something with a 'but', you don't continue it. You wait for the...  
\- Don't 'but' me, Brian! You stay here, and work on a better plan!   
\- Why is this not a good plan for you? I have to do this! You know, my last words to him were 'ROGER, YOU ASS'! - demonstrated Brian what he had said to Roger so many years ago.

\- Yeah, i know, you told me before - scratched Freddie his head. His own head, i mean. - Oh, my, it seems like he was just a dream now. He's so unreal. God knows, God knows what he's doing now.   
That's what Freddie said. But maybe, just maybe he meant it like _why do we even search for him still? Do we even search for him? Does he still exist? Did he ever exist? Do we **have to** find out if he exist? Can't we just let it be? It's nevermind, anyway. _

\- Brian... Can't we just let it be? - Oops. Maybe he shouldn't ask this.  
Brian gave him a look. A look of betrayal and guilt.  
\- What do you mean? Let what be? Let Roger wander all the while alone? I wonder why i still live on... Without him... - and Brian sighed sadly.  
\- Do you really miss him? - Freddie asked after a little time of quietness.  
\- O-of course i miss him! He's my best friend! He's a talented musician, a vibrant, kind man, our drummer, the boy i knew before we even knew the existence of eachother, Freddie! I want him back.

\- Then do something about it!  
\- ISN'T THIS WHAT I TRIED TO TELL YOU? WASN'T THAT MY PLAN?! DIDN'T I COME UP WITH ONE, FINALLY, AFTER LIKE EIGHT YEARS??!  
\- Okay, okay, i get it. But i won't let you do it, sorry. NO, shut it. This plan won't work. Look, Brian, you are here. You are really here. Darling, i can talk to you, i can touch you, see you, feel you, heal you, quote The Who for you, and then, there's Roger somewhere, MAYBE, and he didn't even see Tommy! I think. Oh, but he had heard the album version. Yeah, he'd understand the reference, yeah. He'd understand if i said 'ya wonn't shait as i fiddle about', too. Oh, we did this a lot. 

\- So, you miss him, too?   
\- Of course i do! Who said i don't? I just said it's pointless to still wait for him.  
\- You said this? - scratched Brian his chin, not quite understanding what Freddie said, luckily.  
\- No, of course not! Look, there, a shepherd! - pointed Freddie at some random point in the air, and as Brian turned, he ditched the blueprint away from him.

\- Freddie, i didn't see a shepherd here... Oh, you ditched my blueprint - Brian stated.  
\- Yeah - Freddie sighed, giving it back.  
\- Thanks.  
\- No problem, lovey.

They sat there for a while. Neither of them could say a thing now, there was nothing to talk about. Roger was gone for eight years now, and they didn't had a clue about where he could be. I can't say they tried everything, because they barely did anything. What could they do? Nothing. Besides feeling sorry, i mean, but that hardly helped. 

They all had changed, tho, with time. Not in just appearance, but in their minds, too. They weren't so young anymore. And John became a sheep, too. 

The band didn't get a new drummer, but they didn't shouted out loud that their very own drummer magically vanished because of their very own guitarist, (the audience doesn't have to know everything) so now their very own bassist did the standards, if needed, and they asked a very foreign drummer everytime a very foreign drummer-trick was the plan. So, their very own bassist kindly played things like 'dun-dun-dun-dun-dun-dudu-dun-dun', and 'dangdangdangdangdingydangdangdang', so their very own singer and pianist could sing in his very own voice to one of their very own songs in one of their very own new album, what was their very own band's... Album. They very owned it, to say the least, but it wasn't very funny. 

Sometimes, they could just go and nostalgia on old tracks where their very own drummer was heard, and they just reminisced on bad jokes, as in sitting in a cupboard, K-I-S-S-I-N-G (with a spider, maybe), just to get his way to put his very own song on the B-Side of Freddie's very own masterpiece called Bohemian Rhapsody. 

They made up scenarios, might-have-beens, with Roger. How he'd look, what'd he do in this and in that situation, if he'd have kids by now, if he'd write very own '80s songs. He'd surely write kick-ass songs now, it'd fit him. Maybe he'd even have his very own band, you know, to totally express himself. 

\- Sooo - John, who had been standing in the doorway for a while now, staring at his very own bandmates, who had been indeed staring at the distance, (what was distant, you know) with a dreamy smile on their faces - You two alive?   
\- What.  
\- Uhm, John, darling, hello. Yeah, we just reminisced.  
\- Roger again? Why can't you just let it be? - John sighed, bowing his head a bit.  
\- Hmmpf! - Freddie said cleverly, gesticulating lively in the air, with wide eyes.  
\- Yeah? - raised Brian his eyebrows.  
\- Now, that's what i said.  
\- Really? Why do you keep saying to forget Roger? I don't want to! 

\- Well, you must - grinned devilishly John, holding up an ironer.  
\- What, John, what the hell are you doing with that thing?  Put it down, please.  
\- No - John shook his head, lifting it up, and kicking the back of Brian's head with it, hardly enough for him to feel it through his hair.  
\- John - Freddie started, startled. - What did you do?  
\- I've gone savage - John stated, flicking the passed out Brian's earlobe.  
\- What the hell, man, what's still there to find out about you? - then, after a moment of examining Brian, he asked: - Will he survive this?  
\- Of course, Fred, i think he won't even lose the memory of Roger.   
\- Yeah, then why the hell did you do this?  
\- Well... I don't know. I panicked - and he grinned coyly.   
\- BUT WHY?   
\- I DON'T KNOW!  
\- Okay, just.. Call the ambulance, you freakin' idiot.

**Meanwhile with Roger**

Roger was walking, finally. And it was dark now. He needed to find a shelter. And boy, he did! It was his lucky day. Haha, you know what i mean. "Lucky day", ahwaha. Anyway, he found a cave. A little, warm, dry cave, what was partically made for him. Yes, because on its wall Roger found this 'poem':

_When you find yourself in times of trouble,  
With nowhere to go,  
I hope this magic feeling won't affect you.  
You must keep looking for a way to escape._

_First of all, you can't ever stop, maybe you can  
For this night, but nevermore.  
You have to find a rift, because  
It does exist, believe me._

_It's blue and white, you'll know it  
If you see it, and  
You'll know what to do,   
Just what you did to come here._

_It also glows in the dark, you'll  
Definitely notice it,  
Even if you've gone blind,  
You'll get home eventually,_

_Roger Taylor, i promise._

\- What. What is this? How does it know my name? Mum? And why doesn't it rhyme? This is terrible! I shit better than this! How will is remember this much usefulness, if it doesn't rhyme? I have to memorize it, i guess. It says i'll get home -EVENTUALLY-, but it says i might be really blind by that time, crap.   
Then he shrugged it off.  
\- I guess i'll just sleep now, under this very promising poem. Good night, muddy and tired me.


	7. Though i'm older but a year

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Beware of swearing in this chapter

Roger woke up the next morning, fortunately. I mean, what if he didn't wake up? You better not think about that. But he woke up. He slept well. He wasn't tired, but he was hungry, so he crawled out of the cave he slept in, glanced at the shitty poem on the wall, and went to hunt something, or to pick up some berries. 

There was only one problem. The weather was still like it was february, so there were no berries or fruits. Hunting it is, then. But that's so... Eww, Roger was no caveman to hunt his own (very own) food. And what if people do live in this area, just, let's say, he'd see their village behind a tree, he just didn't look there? It's pure fortune. Life is pure fortune. 

\- Why didn't i stay in fake-London with the silhouettuos? Oh, i wonder what could've happen if i don't leave then... I guess this all would be different. Anyways. I must find a white and blue light, i suppose. I can't stay here.

So the little drummer boy, who was still brown because of that mud, tho it started to get off of his skin, got on his feet, and started walking. He was still hungry, and he had a feeling that he'd be hungry for quite a while from now on. But he sang, because singing makes life better.  
\- I played my drum for him, paaarampampampaaam.... I played my best for him, paaarampampampaaam... - and he thought of Brian, and the time he auditioned to Smile.

\- Is there even a point in trying to get back home? What if they found a new drummer? A better drummer? Maybe they don't even need me anymore! What if i go back there like 'Hi, guys, i'm back, you won't believe what happened', and then they would just stare at me, with the new drummer by their side, saying 'Oh, hi, Roger. Sorry, but you can go back right now, we found a better drummer'... Oh, look at how nice and variated  i can say things, i'm flattered.

Roger shook his head, still walking. He was in some sort of a forest. A big, light, cold and warm forest, with leafs just barely on the branches. Squirrels were scooting up and down the trees, blue jays monkeeing the sounds they heard, blackbirds, bluebirds spreading their wings in the morning air. This made him realise that he was freezing, too, but, oh dear, what could he do? Nothing. So he ignored the cold, staring up at the birds, not looking where he stepped, and this was his misfortune, because he now bloody well stood in the middle of a wild cat's nest. How did it get there? Nobody knows. Why was it in the middle of the road? Nobody knows. But there were now one-two-three-four five little kits, meowing helplessly, and a very angry-looking mom-cat.  
Roger was in trouble.

\- It's... Your home? Uhm, sorry for interrupting. No-one died, right? - he laughed, nervous. The cat hissed.  
\- Maybe you want me to remove my foot? - Roggie thinked out loud. The cat continued hissing, and now ruffled its fur.  
\- I'll be leaving now, then, thank you - Roger stated slowly, pulling his foot out of the little home. But the she-cat had other plans in its mind, as in running forwards, jumping up, and clawing at Roger's left eye.

\- FUCK! - Roger, being the honest man he was, said what was on his chest. He shook the cat off his legs, and covered his eye. - THIS FUCKING HURT, YOU BITCH!

( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°)( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°)( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°)

\- This isn't good - he mumbled, after an hour of sitting under a tree with crossed legs, trying to ease the pain he felt in his eye. - I'm the biologist, i should know what to do.  
He pressed his lips together. He realised he was alone in a forest, with absolutely no medical help he could use.

\- I should probably do something - Roger figured. So he just closed his eye.  
\- Okay, now i closed it, i shall not open it 'til it's safe to again... I guess i can call it a day, i'm half-blind now. Crap. - Then he realised something wasn't right about this. - Why am i so calm about this? I should be screaming in pain and sadness, i just lost half of my vision!

But he rather passed out. Of course, the lazy bastard, instead of walking back home, he lays there. His mom wouldn't be so proud.

**Meanwhile in the real life**

There once was a band called Queen. They were glamorous, when they were young. They were glamorous when they got a bit older, and when they got a lot older, too. They were miraculous by their nature. But they were humans, and humans get tired after a while. No, don't get me wrong - they weren't very tired physically.  Maybe sometimes. But mostly, they were tired of eachother.

After finishing their tour, with various drummers, much to their audience's delight, they didn't really wanted to see the other for a while. They were working on their own thing, alone, and there was not a thing that could bring them together. Freddie and Brian (after he recovered from his long-lasting headache because of the bassist and that ironer) were recording songs, and John got away, to his family, as he wasn't really a performer. He was the bassist. Uhuh. But he scribbled down his ideas, just in case someone would want them.

And yeah. Things were going on like this for a while. Until John and Brian heard the news, oh boy... What news, no. It was rather a secret. Freddie told them to not to tell anyone, so they did as he wanted. Anything for him, right? Now that he was sick, with a disease there was no cure of. 

So Freddie asked them to come back to their studio, and write as many songs they could. He'd sing them. He'd sing anything. 

Music was changing. Yes, of course, it was never the exact same, year after year it was different, you could see the strange changes, if you could trace time, but if you couldn't, you'd eventually notice how it sounded not like it used to earlier. And Queen was making different music, too. 

But it was good. It was good, writing it, recording it, putting it together, until it was whole and ready. As whole as it could be with a truncated band, because no, they still weren't over Roger.   
Especially Brian, who was desperate to find a way to get him back, for eleven years now, but he simply couldn't. As if it was impossible. But... But nothing is impossible, right? There's no such word as impossible. 

Or was there? Seems like it. So, because Brian had to do this job, and a thing to keep his mind from wandering, he just wrote more and more for Freddie, who had like five years to live. It was unofficial. Yet. You can imagine, what would the papers say if they found out... 'Queen frontman got AIDS, his bad, eww', and 'Freddie Mercury will die soon, see him while you can!'

So, no. One, they weren't touring anymore, two, they WOULD NOT TELL THE PAPERS UNTIL THE VERY END.   
They don't have to know it.


	8. Don't you hear my call?

Roger hated the forest.  
\- I hate the forest - he said, because he loved to talk. - And i love to talk.  
When no-one responded with a 'no-one cares!', he rather shut up his mouth, just to not look more foolish than he already did, because he talked before alone, in the forest, so... He looked foolish, but as no-one was there, no-one could laugh at him, either.  
\- I wish someone'd laugh at me - he sighed. - Now, i better get going, i think - and Roger got up. You know, he was sitting still under that tree, covering his eye.

He somehow pushed himself into a standing position with one of his arms, the other still on his left eye. He thought he'd live now with his hand on it, because there's no way that someone could see that scar, especially if it was just a nasty wound yet.  
He found his sunglasses hanging on the neck of his T-Shirt. They were dirty, and he didn't want his eye to get infected, but then he remembered - it's nevermind now. So he shrugged, and put on his glasses.  
\- I don't think this was a good idea - he noted, but he had to find his way back home. At least he knew now what he should search for. - I'm gonna die, crap.

He just wanted to get out of this bloody forest. He had had enough of it. In fact, he had had enough of all of this, this entire situation was awful.  He thought of the time when Smile formed, then Queen, then their first two albums, then he locked himself up in that cupboard... It seemed to him as it'd happened yesterday. And yet he was walking in a forest god-knows where, trying to figure out the meaning of life in his spare time or whatsoever. And he was still hungry. And he really'd met that cat, as it seemed on his eye.

\- It's all my fault - he growled, as did his stomach. - I shouldn't have annoyed Brian, then i wouldn't be here. Albeit i don't know if my hand would've vanish in that thing and now it'd be wandering here alone, but i guess that'd be better than all of me being here. Ah, crap, i'm so, so stupid. 

He never feared anything before. Because something always happened, and now it seemed as nothing will happen, and that scared him, too. What if suddenly nothing happens? That's awful. Even in the worst situations, life will go on, so it's pretty much alright, all in all, even if it's not really, but when everything just stops... That's the worst. 

And now, nothing had happened for a long time. He just walked in the endless forest, with no point to reach, and he was very, very lost. I mean, yes, he searched for that thing, but... What thing? Wait! Oh my, tell me he did not just forget what he seeked, please, tell me.  
\- Okay, Roger, what's the last thing you remember? - he asked himself, as if he was a doctor. A doctor.

\- Brian... Brian doing his doctorate? - he hummed, and he remembered everything. But he didn't want to admit it to himself. He didn't want to remember. But he did. And he got a brand new idea from it.  
\- What if i just create a rift like that myself? - his face lit up, but darkened as soon as he said it. - Of course, Rog, because you're an astrophysicist yourself, right? It was impossible by itself, to create a wormhole, how could you do it? Don't be stupid.

He sighed. He'd just carry on with walking, then. The "poem" promised that he'd get home eventually. And he believed in the "poem". It was his one and only anchor now. 

Suddenly, the air froze. It was all quiet. No chirping, no sound of walking, so Roger stood still, too. Something was coming. Something big. Something powerful, royal. It was beating, pulsing in the ground. The rocks were vibrating slightly, and Roger held his breath in, not daring to even move his eyes.  
Finally, a white chariot came into view. As Roger was standing in the middle of the long and winding road, still as a statue, the beautiful vehicle had to stop. 

Seemingly, there was nothing, or the nothing what pulled the chariot, so nobody had to get off of the driver's seat. Instead, the door opened, and a light-brown skinned leg was to be seen. Following that, another leg came, then a white and blue dress, then two arms, then a round face, and short, black hair.

And there she stood, all majestic and everything: ... Who was this?  
\- Hello - the woman said.  
\- H-hello - said Roger, exactly as confident as her.  
\- I'm the White Queen on a roadtrip - announced the girl, and looked at Roger, so he'd bemutatkozik too.  
\- I'm the Drummer of Queen... And i could say, i'm on a roadtrip, also - he said shyly.  
\- Oh, where are you going? - asked the Queen.  
\- Well... - Roger started, - here and there... Home, actually.  
The Queen hummed. The boy was just his type.  
\- You know what? - she asked.  
\- No...?  
\- You're coming with me - grabbed the White Queen his arm, and pulled him inside her chariot.  
\- I'm not quite sure if i want to, miss - protested weakly Roger, but the Queen didn't really give  a damn.

As they sat in the vehicle, the Queen got a better look at Roggie.  
\- Oh, deary, but you're all mud and you stink, and you seem starved and tired, and oh, what happened to your eye? Don't you try to cover it, i can see that it's injured!  
\- I'm fine - Roger said, but he himself didn't take it seriously. He was kinda glad that someone finally treated him like a human, even if that someone partically captured him.  
\- Oh, don't lie to me, i can see that you're not fine. But don't worry, soon we will be at my palace, and we'll get you cleaned up, alrighty? - she mewled.  
\- Alrighty - raised Roger his eyebrows.

They sat in silence, the Queen staring at Roger with wide, brown eyes, Roger trying to ignore this, and he closed his eyes, and evened his breath out.  
At least something happened, he thought. And that's good. Great, even. He felt himself slowly falling asleep.

**Meanwhile in the real life**

It happened. Freddie has passed away. Brian couldn't collect his feelings. It was just... No, he didn't had words for it. His dearest friend, his brother is - gone. Another one of his brothers. He felt so alone.  
At the funeral there wasn't many people. Just John, the family, some others and him. It wasn't amusing, but since when were funerals amusing?

It wasn't very long, but of course, it felt like weeks had passed since it started. And when it was over, all Brian wanted is to go home and stay there until the very end of his life. But he couldn't do that - he had things to finish.  
For example, Freddie's album. He had asked him and John to finish it. But neither John or him wanted to, that was the problem. Actually, John said it out loud (and that was unusual from him), that he won't carry on without Freddie, because where's the fun in that, y'know, working with good ol' depressed Brian...  
And Brian didn't want to work with himself, either. Nor John. He had enough money... But this was what Freddie wished. What should he do? He had no inspiration, and not someone who could comfort him. John still wasn't open for things like that. So they both suffered alone.

And he still had to get Roger back... But he was not sure if he wanted to, really. The years made him forget about the little things Roger had in himself, and now, at his pointless state of mind, he didn't want to do anything. So, why bother with Roger, anyway? He's dead. Or if he isn't, he could be nowhere, so who cares? He's not.


	9. Tho you're many years away

Roger woke up at the gentle sound of hornpipes blowing into his ear, then a yell:  
\- Wake up, Drummer! We're here! You had enough sleep already.  
\- Mhhwha? - rubbed Roger his right eye, because at least that didn't hurt. He tried to ignore that strange yelling by rolling onto his other side, but the speaker wasn't happy about it. They grabbed Roger, and pulled him up at his feet.

\- C'mon, boy, you haven't got that much time. The Queen wanted to you to be taken care of your injuries, then you'd start to learn how to be a joker.  
\- What? Why? - Roger's eyes widened. But oh yes, the Queen, he remembered now. But... What was that? A joker? Who said he agreed on being a joker? He absolutely didn't want to be that! What a shame that he needed food and shelter, at least for a night... Maybe he could trick that girl, she seemed innocent enough for that. And gullible.  
\- Because i said that - floated back the voice of the intruder of his sleep.  
\- Okay, okay, i'm coming, i guess - nodded Roger.

And he looked up. And he saw that the man was wearing a red... A red... Red clothing. It was decorated with eyes. Kinda pretty. But as he looked up at the man's face, he saw...  
\- Freddie? - Roger gasped. - What on Earth are you doing here?  
\- Psst - sushed him the man, maybe Freddie, with a sad glint in his eyes. - Just follow me, i'll lead you to the bath-halls.   
\- But... Hey, Freddie, what's up with you? I finally found you! You won't guess what happened to me! Actually, i'm very interested in what happened to your hair... And what's that moustache? But i'm glad you're here. Are we going home? I'd like that. Hey, are Bri and John here, too? - he jabbered.  
\- I said 'psst'! - snapped supposedly-Freddie at him.  
\- Frankly, dear, i don't give a damn - sassed Roger. - Just tell me, are they here, too?  
\- Look, Drummer, i can't tell you. I shouldn't even talk to you. You're now the property of the White Queen, as i am the Fairy King's.  
\- Your Fairy King? Oh, that's cool - smiled Roger. - But... What do you mean i'm someone's property? I'm a free man with a free will, i won't ever be someone's!

The man in red shook his head. This newbie obviously didn't know how things worked here.   
\- Get in there, and don't come out until you have a presentable smell. The Queen can't stand people who stink like you - and he showed the blond inside the bath-hall.  
\- Then why did she even pick me up? It's stupid!  
\- You can't use such language here! - frowned the man, and shut the door on Roger's face, and walked away, but yelled back:   
\- You find your new clothes in there as well!

Well, once he was there, Roger took his chance to take a bath, putze seine Zahne, as he once learnt it in german-class, but he wasn't good at that, anyway... He washed his hair as well, careful to not get shampoo in his eyes. His clothes were partically ruined, and he didn't know how they lasted so long. When he dried himself, he looked for the new ones the man said will be here. And he found them. Oh boy, he did.  
\- WHAT IS THIS? WHAT THE HELL ARE THESE? - he half-laughed, half-cried as he saw an outfit in the similar style as the eye-decorated one of the grumpy man. He had to admit it, it was less revealing, but it was tight enough for him to feel uncomfortable, and then there was the worst part - a huge, suffocating collar.

\- Noo - Roger cried. - Is there a way to remove this shit from this other shit?  
He was very pleased by what he should wear, according to this place's style, you see.

\- No, nancy boy, you have to put it on - came a familiar female voice from behind him.  
\- Why are you here? - snapped Roger, but he quickly realised that this was rude behavior, so he quickly continued. - ... My Majesty?   
Of course, everything can be fixed with a little bit of politeness.

But still, why the hell was the Queen in the same room as him when he had nothing on?

\- Can i brush your hair? - asked the Queen.  
\- Uhm, i don't think that's a good idea - shook Roger his head, but the girl just glared at him, and attacked his head with a comb.  
\- Your hair is so pretty - she said in awe, while Roger wandered just exactly why did she get so intimate with him.

\- Could i... Can i get dressed? - Roger asked, suddenly not so bothered by the thought of wearing the collar, the sleeves and the leggings or stockings or whatever they're called.  
\- No - chuckled the Queen. Roger then just sat there, with a defeated expression on his face.  
He felt very uncomfortable. If only she left him alone for a minute! Yeah, he was kinda grateful, but it was too much. He was a free man. Free men don't let others to comb their hair, and they like to be not naked in front of strangers. Their pride, you know. Or the opposite, i'll never know this.

\- Now, i don't care - said Roger finally, and he got up from the girl's lap, because he was almost sitting there, it seemed.  
Before the Queen could reach out for him, he jumped away, grabbing the clothes, and hiding in a corner, putting them on.  
\- Hey, wait! - she cried.  
\- Why are you stalking me? I won't go anywhere! - Roger half-lied, finally in clothes, and he stared at the Queen, who smiled, satisfied.  
\- Very well - she nodded, and twirled her hair. - Now, let's get you stiched up!

And they went to get Roger stiched up.

**Meanwhile in the real life**

John wanted to leave. He wanted to bleedin' quit, leaving Brian all by himself. But before that, they agreed on doing a concert for the blokes out there, to be careful and don't die like Freddie did.

Many of their friends were here, helping him and John out, trying to ease the pain that was caused by losing someone they knew and loved for half of their lives. Trying.

It wasn't easy to plan out the concert, and Brian was still nervous, although so far everything went alright. A woman did a speech out there, thanked the audience, cheering, things like that.  
Brian was biting his nails, as he peeked at the crowd from behind the curtains.

\- You still have stage fright? - he heard someone gently chuckle. Deaky. No-one else chuckles in real life, just him. Chuckling is not a real thing.  
\- Yeah - sighed Brian, and turned his head to look at John. - Crazy, right? I've been performing for almost 25 years now, and i still worry myself to brain-damage. In fact, i wanted to ask this for quite a time now - how are you not nervous?  
\- Who said i'm not nervous? - smirked John, and he pulled at Brian's sleeve. - Come on, we have to do this. It will be good, i promise - he pushed him towards the stage. - Just go out there, and don't worry, they love you. They love us.

John was right. The crowd loved them, as ever. The now two-membered band played along with the guest-performers who did their best, and many times Brian had to stifle a laugh, because, well, nobody could perform the songs as Freddie did. But they tried. That's a thing, too.

But then, it was over. The concert was over, and so was Brian's career as a musician. Freddie babbled something about a last album before he died, but Brian hasn't had the guts and the mood to finish an album by himself. John was leaving, so why would he stay? Nope, he couldn't do this alone, it'd break his poor little heart. Is he only had someone who would cling together with him, but no... He was away.

So he went on a holiday instead with his family.


	10. And they bring good news

As Roger found out, the White Queen was not really nice. Kinda rude, if you ask him. She had a weird sense of humor, and by the end of the day, Roger wanted to call her 'Queen Bitch', but just because he quite liked David Bowie.

After Roger was looking somehow presentable, he was sent away to work on his manners. And again, the Red man was leading him. Roger, of course, couldn't leave this unnoticed.  
\- If are you working for the Fairy King or the Goblin King, how are you always here... Freddie?  
\- Roger, i told you i can't help you with this!  
\- AHA! So you do know my name! Don't try to demand it!  
\- Uhm... I only know it because you told me...? - the man asked, but he knew he lost it.  
\- Yeah, and you're just exactly like Freddie by accident, you mean - Roger raised his eyebrows, but he was glad he won this argument, because it meant that Freddie was really Freddie.

\- Okay, you won - admitted Freddie, too. - I am Freddie.  
\- Ooh, i know! - replied Roger with a smug grin, and hugged Freddie tightly. - Man, you won't believe what happened with me!  
\- I won't - smiled Freddie. - You tell me a little later, okay? Now we have to get you some good manners.

Roger just shrugged at that, because he wouldn't care if he had to do the chacha or anything right now. He was extremely happy to see his friend again.

But he had some questions.  
\- Hey, Freddie, for how long have you been here? And me? What about me? And, oh, are John and Brian here too? Please, tell me they're here! I want them to be here, they have to see this! - now, if he looked at it from this way, this whole thing was very interesting and not at all horrible. Just let all of them be here.  
Freddie didn't know how to explain this to Roger.  
\- I'm here at my will, to help you, my darling. Don't you think it's better at home? - he carefully asked, trying to not sound suspicious. - Uhm... It's not... Natural to be here, you know. It's only safe for certain people, and maybe Bri and Deaks would be at serious danger - he wanted to tell Roger so many thing, but _he_ cared about other people's feelings. 

Of course, did it matter if Roger said things like that? If he wished for their friends to be here? It didn't matter, but it made Freddie cringe. Don't let them be here. Maybe they would, eventually, maybe they wouldn't. Maybe they would be at another place, _eventually,_ and not here with him and Roger.  
But somewhere else.

\- What do you mean? - Roger's voice dazed into his thoughts.  
\- Well, look at you! - pointed Freddie at Roger's left eye. - I'm not even sure if you should be here! - oh, but yes, he was sure.  
\- Then why am i? And why are you? - acted Roger like a stubborn donkey again.  
\- Well, as far as i know, Brian pushed you through that science-thing of his, and for me, uhm. I died - there it was! He said it. Finally.

\- What - Roger said (yes, said), and stopped in his tracks. Because they were walking, if i remember correctly.   
He looked exactly like someone who's gonna brust very soon. Like, right no-  
\- WHAT DO YOU MEAN YOU'RE DEAD? IS THAT WHY YOU LOOK SO STUPID? AM I DEAD, TOO? DO I LOOK LIKE THIS, TOO?   
\- Roger...  
\- FOR HOW LONG HAVE YOU BEEN DEAD, REALLY? AND ME? WHAT. ABOUT. ME?   
\- Roger...!  
\- ANSWER ME! - furrowed Roger his eyebrows, and he said this so quickly, it sounded like a very raspy 'answahmeh'.  
\- I don't know, Roggie.  
\- Good excuse - the very upset Roggie murmured, but his voice was weaker now.  
\- Look, darling, i'd love to know it, too, but time passes differently here. I can tell you that when i drew my terminal breath you've been gone for nigh... - and here he quickly counted something on his fingers - not nigh, for 16 years exactly.  
\- Sixteen years - echoed Roger in awe. - Sixteen years? SIXTEEN YEARS? SIXTEEN YEARS HAVE PASSED WITHOUT ME? What happened in sixteen years? And... Sixteen years? But you were so young! - Roger's face was twisted into something what reminded Freddie of a good, loyal blanket as the coin dropped.

And what to do now? For Freddie, Roger's sad-blanket face was enough to make him stop any feelings that weren't feeling sorry and helpless, so he didn't say anything, just grabbed the blond's shoulders, and made him going. Mobile.  
\- We'll talk later - Freddie finally told the muted drummer, and gently pushed him into the room where Roger's first duty as a part of the palace was soon to be started.

Freddie leaned on the doorframe, sighing sadly. From inside, he could hear a voice saying 'you're late', probably to poor Roger.  
Hell, he wasn't on time, and didn't even answer Roger's questions, leaving the poor boy so very, very confused. He knew he shouldn't even talk to him, and especially not telling him things like that he did, but it was so good, talking to him once again.

But now he must think he's dead, too. 

**Meanwhile in the real life**

**Early 2000s**

Again, a few years have passed, and Brian wasn't doing anything. He and John both left the stage forever, and neither of them wanted the papers to know anything about them. They lived for their family.  
I mean, no. If only they did! But just John did. Brian, as i said, wasn't doing anything. 

It all made him sad, he said. It made him remember everything, he said. He didn't want to remember, he said, and that was all. Everybody was so very grateful that he said this. (Brian didn't say this, but he felt it.)

He wasn't doing his doctorate. Never again. He wasn't making music. Never again. He wasn't trying to look for ways to get Roger back. Never again? Never again?? But he promised it! He promised himself, to the world that he would do this!

He was so very disappointed in himself. It was a thing he really wanted to do, but somehow couldn't. And the best part of it was that he couldn't even try it. He stopped trying years ago.  
He felt like this was his only duty in life, and he couldn't do it. He made another person's, his friend's life miserable! Probably. What if not? What is he's in a better place now? No, you don't say a thing like this. This is something you say about dead people. And Roger - preferably - was no dead. 

But Brian felt like he had tried it for so many years, in so many ways. But he also knew that he doesn't always feel the truth.   
He felt like... He felt like he gave his life away for this. He tried, and tried, and tried, but everybody wanted to put him down, they said he was going crazy. Now he thought of Freddie and the times he tried to represent him his plans.

Now that he was gone - this sounded extremely rude, he thought - he could try it again, with nobody to say anything. He could make it.  
But then Roger would come 'home' to an entirely different place, to a few grumpy old men, to new trends, and he would be extremely confused and not fitting here.

So, he decided years ago, this wasn't a good idea. Now he'd stay wherever he is. And it broke into Brian's soul, to not complete something he started.


	11. Ne'er looked back, never feared

– You're late – heard Roger.  
– Well, hello to you, too, Sir – he said. The sassy scrub.  
– Let's just pretend that you never said this, Drummer. First lesson: in this place everyone's above you. And you greet everyone who's above you with an 'i wish you a good day, Sir or Miss. Or Lady. Understood? – the man, because apparently, he was a man, asked Roger. He was quite young, and had curly, ginger hair. There was stubble on his face, and his clothes were weirder than Roger's that he wore where he came from.

Roger just stared at him in silence. He still wasn't used to this treatment, and he didn't like it one bit. He didn't like being called Drummer and known as 'under everyone'.   
The man wasn't patient.

– So? Hey, now you have a brand new start, don't waste it! Start it all over again. You greet me. It's even better if you bow a little. Do it. Before i lose all of my patience.  
He shooed Roger to the door with a flick of his wrist.  
– Obey – he commanded, and Roger found this so very amusing he started to wheeze with laughter. – What is it, you fool? Listen to the wise man!  
– That would be you, i suppose – giggled Roger. – I don't believe you. Wise men don't speak about themselves like this.  
– Don't you make stereotypes, Drummer! I won't like you that way –  the Wise Man scowled. Roger rolled his eyes.  
– It's late for that, isn't it? – he shrugged.

The Man sat there, Roger stood in the doorway, and they just were there, Roger not wanting to be lectured, the Wise Man not having any skills in taming other people, so they couldn't really do anything with each other.

After a hour or so, a bell rang, and the Man, who seemed to be lost in his thoughts, looked at Roger, and told him to leave.   
He stepped out of the room, without saying goodbye.

Outside, Freddie was waiting for him.  
– How did it go? Did you learn something exciting? – he asked.  
– Fred. Don't – Roger furrowed his eyebrows. He wasn't very amused after a hour of waiting. – I saw an idiot, if that's exciting. Not very much, if you ask me.

So Freddie didn't push him.  
– Rog, i found time for us to talk. I'll try to answer every question of yours, but one, you'll have to wait 'til we get to the most quiet place here, and two, i don't know everything.  
Roger just nodded, and nudged Freddie to get going, so he could ask everything he wanted to know. 

They walked down a hallway, where the floor was covered in green carpit. It reminded Roger of something, but he'd rather not say it out loud. You better off this way, i tell you.  
But thanks to the carpit, their steps couldn't be heard.  
Luckily, after some steps and turns, they reached a room, and quickly got in.  
Freddie shut the door behind them, and there they were, in a tiny room, with barely some air, but at least there they could talk.

– Okay – breathed out Freddie, as he made sure that no-one could hear them –, now we can talk.  
– Okay – inhaled Roger, and opened his mouth to start a question — and nothing came out. – Of course, i can't talk right now, when i should.  
– Take your time – nodded Freddie, and folded his arms.  
His judging annoyed the hell out of Roger.

– Can you stop that, please?   
– Stop what? – grinned the other. His sense of humour was great.  
– You know what!  
– No, i don't!  
– Yes, you do!  
– No, i don't!  
– Yes, you do!  
– No, i don't!  
– Yes, you do!  
– No, i don't!  
– Yes, you do!  
– No, i don't!  
– Yes, you do!  
– No, i don't!  
– Yes, you do!  
– No!  
– Yes!  
– No!  
– Yes!  
– No!  
– Okay. I'm not arguing with you.

– Yes, you do.  
– No, i don't!  
– Yes, you do!  
– No, i don't!  
– Yes, you do!  
– No, i don't!  
– Yes, you do!  
– No, i don't!  
– Yes, you do!  
– No, i don't!  
– Yes, you do!  
– No, i don't!  
– Yes, you do!  
– No, i don't!  
– Yes, you do!  
– No, i don't!  
– Yes, you do!  
– No, i don't!  
– Yes, you do!  
– No, i don't!  
– Yes, you do!  
– SHUT UP! – they yelled, synchronised, as they always were, because, you know, they were in a band, and they worked together in synchronization.  
Roger and Freddie stared at each other, with their eyebrows furrowed. Because why would they use their precious time for useful things? Of course they wouldn't.

So, they just stood in the uncomfortable little room, in stubborn silence, not doing anything for a while.  
It was Roger who finally made a move, but just because he was getting bored. The little social butterfly.

– Uhm... So, can i ask you things now? – he asked quietly.  
– Go for it, darling – scowled Freddie.  
– Okay. How do i get home? Can i get home? What do i do with that shitty poem i found a few days ago? How did you get here? Why are you here? What was that about you being dead?  
– Yea-  
– ANSWER ME!  
– I'd gladly do it, darling. Shut up. Yes, i am indeed dead, as lame as it sounds. I came to help you — don't give me that look! — so you'll get home, if you want. Yes, you can get home, i don't have the energy to tell you how it will be, but you can. As far as i know, you're technically not dead, and so isn't John or Brian. It was 1991 when i left the place, so if you're smart, you could figure out just how long you've been gone. I don't know anything about a poem, but you'd better not trust it. And, if you're wondering, i can leave whenever i want, but i'm a good friend, so i decided to help you. You happy?

Roger was happy, there was no doubt about that. His expression, too, told Freddie exactly this.   
– I'll just leave you here, then, darling. Let it sink in. I'll come back for you, and until then, you shall decide if you wanna go back home. Bye.

**Meanwhile in the real life**

Brian was lonely. In fact, he never ever felt lonelier before. He was the loneliest he could get.  
And he was old. His energy, or what was left of it, was nearly nonexistent by now.  
Last decade, all of his friends had left him. Musicians, citizens, childhood friends... And now his wife. Once his children grew up, she left him, and he hardly noticed her as they parted company.  
So, now he was old, and he puffed his pipe, but no-one was there to see. It was just as boring as it was saddening, but oh, what could he do now? 

He wasn't a good dad, let's say it out loud. He was always thinking about songs and plans, and it really was weird of him to not to care about his kids, but he didn't. Sad. Everything was so very sad, oh my hell, i can't even... It was terrific. This entire thing is terrific. Too bad.

Now he was more than 80 years old. And he was glad that he was now going down his street, and he'd soon arrive. If only he did what he promised. This way, he felt like he spared his life for nothing.

**Author's Note:**

> I do not own anything. If i did, Roger would be a figure skater.


End file.
